Chapter VII

But these happy days, this renewed intimacy, did not last long. It was partly the fault of Mrs. Smythe that it came to an end, but much more the fault of Nora. She became a person of immense importance in her own eyes. In her secret cogitations she thought her father must have seen some hidden superior qualities, which prompted him thus to break the common law in her favour; nay, further, she sometimes thought her Heavenly Father must have chosen her for some special distinction. Her heart was lifted up. The immediate consequence was a separation in her thoughts from her mother. “We” vanished from her common speech, and the unpleasant “I” became prominent.

There was not any real lack of affection in this--on the contrary, already dim thoughts of being her mother’s protector were forming themselves within; nor did any future dream commend itself to her eyes, except as acted out before her mother. It was “_I_ will do, and _you_ will see;” it was, “And when I am this great woman, almost a queen, shall you not be proud of me, mamma?”

Mrs. Smythe did not, however, make distinctions. She found herself put by; her young daughter settling all things without inquiring into her will, and her maternal pride was sorely wounded. Had she spoken in the beginning, had she peevishly said out her peevish thoughts, the ill would probably have been stayed; but the soreness was too sore. She brooded on her grievance within, and it grew out of all bounds.

Things went on thus till Nora was within a few months of sixteen; and then a blow fell upon her, which was a very natural consequence of Mrs. Smythe’s state of mind, but one Nora had never even imagined. It arose from the fact that, although concealing her sore heart from Nora and from Mrs. Ratcliffe, the poor mother did make a confidant.

It has been said that the society of her medical advisers was peculiarly agreeable to her. At Geneva, as usual, she found a medical friend. Monsieur Jules d’Alberg was the son of a Swiss pastor and an English woman. His delightful foreign manners, and his English conversation, had early recommended him to Mrs. Smythe, and she poured her confidences into his ear. He, on his side, was early attracted by the still youthful widow--not attracted by herself, but by her circumstances. He was not a very bad man, but the principle of self-interest was the most largely developed of his qualities, and he saw the means of forwarding his interests here. One thing only withheld him. He could not make out the mother’s position. Sometimes she spoke like a princess, and sometimes as if she was the most ill-used of mortals.

Nora from the first disliked him, and with her young tyranny forbade her mother to invite him to tea, as she would have liked to do. Mrs. Ratcliffe neither liked nor disliked, but knowing her mistress’s ways, let her alone. She must always have her medical adviser and friend, that she knew, but she and the rest of the household needed him not. Monsieur d’Alberg, therefore, had no means of making discoveries regarding the position of Mrs. Smythe. Meanwhile he invited her confidence by his charm of demeanour.

It happened one day, when Nora was nearly sixteen, that she said to her mother,

“I can hardly sleep at night, mamma, for thinking of it all. Oh! don’t you long for the day when we shall go to England?” For Nora always supposed that it was something connected with this event that kept them abroad.

Mrs. Smythe was in a peevish humour, and she peevishly replied that she did not see why they should go to England at all.

Nora stared.

“Not go to England, mamma? But it is the very first thing I mean to do when I am of age. Surely you want to go to England”?

Mrs. Smythe reiterated, in the same tone, that she did not. She hated England! Nora was silent for a moment from astonishment and dismay. She then warmly expressed her feelings on the subject, ending with--

“I would rather be a beggar in England than a queen of gold here!”

“I wish you _were_ a beggar, or at least a baby again,” said her mother, vexed beyond her poor powers; and when Nora, offended, walked with a stately step out of the room, she burst into tears. She cried till her head ached, and while her head was aching, Monsieur d’Alberg made his call. He soothed and charmed as usual, and she shortly owned to him that she was vexed. She had cried, and crying had made her head ache; and a few further inquiries revealed the cause. Her daughter meant to go to England, and she did not want to go.

“But how could that be?” he asked with quick diplomacy. “It was not usually the young lady who ruled the house?”

And Mrs. Smythe then told him all things. Her whole life, vexations, grievances, up to that moment. If she was prolix he could bear it, for the tale was of interest to him.

While she spoke he revolved all in his mind. He was in the first instant shocked, for he had supposed her to be enormously rich. But, after a little consideration, he found he might stand on safer ground. He summarily arranged in his mind that Mrs. Smythe’s private fortune should be settled on himself and put away, and that he and she should content themselves with her annuity of £1000 a year.

In a few seconds he was prepared to act, and before he left the house he did act, and was not repulsed. After the first moments of delight, however, in finding herself with a lover, a protector, and a home, independent of Nora and her grandeur, the poor weak woman began to weep and to tremble. The mother’s heart went after her daughter. How, she said, if Nora persisted in going to England, should she live without her; and how should she ever tell Nora what had occurred?

For the moment M. d’Alberg recommended delay. He soothed her tenderly, and, in short, in a few days one thing he made clear to her mind--come what might, she never could part from him.

A short time elapsed; and at last, one week before the coming of age, Nora was informed that Monsieur d’Alberg was to be her stepfather. It was Monsieur d’Alberg who performed the task. He saw that, unless he did it, it would never be done. The information was given not without inward trepidation, for Nora had inspired him with some degree of fear, but outwardly with coolness and calmness. He hoped, he said, as he concluded, that she would learn to love him.

It was the first blow in Nora’s life, and she was thunderstruck. She could not collect her senses to understand all; but to his last words replying with ineffable disdain, “Never!” she rushed from the room.

He was abashed, and after telling Mrs. Smythe what had passed, left her to contend with Nora alone.